dying thief being instantly fitted for glory, greatly comforted him. He spoke warmly of the joys of heaven, where there would be no more pain, no more sin, no more evil, for ever. On the Sabbath, his elder brother arriving, he was greatly moved, and said, "Oh! if it would please God for me to get well again." Presently he said, "No; if I could get well again, I would rather not;-it must come once. I have not much moral courage, and might be drawn away, and so be less fit to go." His brothers and sisters sitting round the bed, he beckoned his elder brother to him, and holding his hand, affectionately entreated them all to decide for God at once, saying to him, "I have long wanted to speak to you, but did not like to set myself up." A young friend bringing him some fruit, said, "Poor fellow! poor fellow!" Smiling sweetly, he replied, "I do not consider myself poor-I do not consider myself poor."

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ment, he calculated on sudden death, and said, about midnight, "How blessed not to have to seek a Saviour now, but simply to look up to Him. I grieve at not having joined the church. I would, had I been better, and able to attend public worship; and Mr. Soden's absence in Ireland led me to defer it till his return, and then immediately we came down here." His father asked him if, as he had spoken earnestly to each of his sisters and his youngest brother to seek the Saviour, he had any message for his elder brother. He replied, 'Give my love to him, and tell him to give himself to Christ, and to decide for Him at once." When in much pain, the 3rd, 4th, and 5th verses of the 53rd Isaiah were repeated to him, to contrast our sufferings with those of Christ; he was deeply affected that men could despise and slight Him, saying he had often wondered at it. Finding great difficulty in breathing, he said, "How I long to be gone: but, Lord, let me not sin in this, but give me resignation." Gasping greatly for breath, as if he thought his end near, he said calmly, as breath allowed, "Although I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,' &c. Will you not be glad at my release? Say that verse to me, 'I know in whom I have believed.'" After the verse was explained, he expressed his happiness in trusting in Jesus. Presently, dozing, he said, "Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly." He then asked what would be the soul's realization immediately after death; did not the Saviour sanctify it and meeten it for heaven at once? The case of the

On Monday, he said to his sister, "Seek Christ directly; you see it made me happy before this illness, and what should I do now without a hope in Him? Ever since that evening when I gave myself to Jesus, I have had peace. I have often backslidden, but returning the same way to Him, I have found peace again." This was fully exemplified during the previous three months, in the sweet state of mind he often confessed himself to be enjoying, and in his growing gentleness and humility. On Wednesday, a friend having sent his Christian sympathy to him, feeling very weak, he observed, "I get beyond those things now; I know in whom I have believed; that is enough

for me." To a dear friend, who recently gave him a book he much prized, he said, "Give my love to him, and say, the book he sent me was very clear and instructive; I can call the Saviour my own, I do not fear to die." He often observed, he was not sufficiently grateful for his mercies in having a comfortable bed to die upon, and a tender mother to smooth every crease in his pillow. He was deeply affected by the thought that this was purchased by Christ's dying in agony on the cross, and his bleeding-hearted mother looking on without power to help him. Pressing his left breast, he said, "Here is all the mischief! Oh, the rack, the rack! it is tremendous; not pain exactly, but oppression." The mention of a Saviour's sorrow instantly comforted him. At night, being very low, he said, "Soothe me; speak to me of Christ's sympathy; I feel wild, and cannot think." On hearing of the love of God from John iii. 14-16, "That will do--I understand-thank you." After dozing a while, he woke up, saying, "Praise the Lord." When wandering again, "Trust in the blessed Jesus," was whispered in his ear. He replied, with great energy, "I do, with all my heart: I am going to Him: I shall soon be with Him." To his youngest sister, as she wept violently, he said, "Sorrow not for me as for one that is lost." An hour before he died, soliloquising, he said, very solemnly, "You said, live another week, and fight the world; Lord, I am only thine." He said to his relatives, he could not trust himself to think about their grief for his removal, but he was comforted by the

support they obtained from God, and prayed that it might continue. Often he was heard to pray, 66 Once more,

O Saviour, I ask thee to be with me in the last struggle." The night before his departure, being greatly exhausted, it was whispered in his ear,

Although I walk through the valley of the shadow of death," when rousing to great energy he continued, "I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff -they comfort me." Wondering that he could be welcome to heaven without working for the Saviour's glory, and wishing that he could do ever so little for this end, he was reminded that God is glorified in suffering, as well as by labour; that God calls some to render all their service in heaven, saying, "It is well that it was in thine heart-come, serve me in heaven." His smile told his happiness. His sense of weakness and unworthiness was marked and constant, his trust in Christ simple and implicit, and his peace and rest in the Saviour rich and unwavering. He threw himself on the mercy of God in Christ about three months before his death, and enjoyed from that hour a delicious repose, while exercising a cheerful confidence in His love and power. The prevailing feature of his experience was that Christ is an infinite and all-sufficient Saviour, on whom having, by the Holy Ghost, cast himself for salvation, it was for him ever cordially to believe, hope, and rejoice in Him, whether for life or for death. His rapid progress in knowledge, love, gentleness, solicitude for others, and holy delicacy of feeling, disclosed the preparation he was experiencing

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for the world of light, becoming so intense during the closing week as to thrill and delight all beholders. In the review, his parents adore the God of all grace as the hearer and answerer of prayer, and the dispenser of salvation to their departed child; and thus encouraged, will labour, hope, and pray for the salvation of all their other children, through the same sovereign love and mercy, and would put on record their experience, both as a testimony to the Divine faithfulness, and an incentive to all

Christian parents, to rely on the ancient covenant of promise, "My Spirit that is upon thee, and my words which I have put in thy mouth, shall not depart out of thy mouth, nor out of the mouth of thy seed, nor out of the mouth of thy seed's seed, saith the Lord, from henceforth and for ever."-From a Sermon preached at Pembury Grove Chapel, by the Rev. Frank Soden, to improve the death of Charles Sherman Ross, July 29th, 1860.

HER DAUGHTER'S GRAVE. Long o'er the hopeless grave,

Where her lost darling slept, Invoking gods that could not save,

That pagan mourner wept. Oh! for some voice of power,

To soothe her bursting sighs, "There is a resurrection hour!

Thy daughter's dust shall rise!"
Christians! ye hear the cry

From heathen Afric's strand,
Haste! lift salvation's banner high
O'er that benighted land;
With faith that claims the skies
Her misery control,

And plant the hope that never dies
Deep in her tear-wet soul.

"IF I HAD MINDED MY
MOTHER."

I WENT, a few weeks since, into a gaol to see a young man who had once been a Sabbath-school scholar.

The keeper took a large bunch of keys and led us through the long, gloomy halls, unlocking one door after another, until at length he opened the door of the room where sat the young man we had come to The walls of the room were of coarse stone, the floor of thick plank, and before the windows were strong iron bars.

see.

Without all was beautiful; the green fields, the sweet flowers, and

the singing birds were as lovely as ever; but this young man could enjoy none of these-no, never again could he go out, for he was condemned to death! Yes, he had killed a man, and now he himself must. die.-Think of it, only twenty years old, and yet a murderer! I sat down beside him and talked with him. "Oh," said he, as the tears rolled down his cheeks, "I did not mean to do it, but I was drunk; then I got angry, and before I knew what I was about, I killed him. Oh, if I had minded what my Sabbath-school teacher said, if I had minded my mother, I should never have come to this!-I should never have been here!"

It would have made your heart sore, as it did mine, to see and talk with him. Once he was a happy, playful child like you; now he is a condemned young man. He did not mind his mother, did not govern his temper, and as he grew older he went with bad boys, who taught him bad habits; and he became worse and worse, until, as he said, when drunk, he killed a man; and now, after a few weeks, he must die, he must suffer the dreadful penalty. As I left him, he said :

:

"Will you not pray for me?" and he added, "Oh! tell boys everywhere to mind their mothers, and keep away from bad companions."

AGE OF ANIMALS.

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A BEAR rarely exceeds twenty years; a dog lives twenty years; a wolf, twenty; a fox, fourteen to fifteen; lions are long-lived Pompey lived to the age of seventy. The average of cats is fifteen years; a squirrel and hare, seven or eight years; rabbits, seven. Elephants have been known to live to the great age of four hundred years. When Alexander the Great had conquered one Porus, king of India, he took a great elephant which had fought very valiantly for the king, named him Ajax, and dedicated him to the sun, and let him go, with this inscription:" Alexander, the son of

Jupiter, hath dedicated Ajax to the sun.' ." This elephant was found with this inscription three hundred and fifty years after. Pigs have been known to live to the age of thirty years; the rhinoceros to twenty. A horse has been known to live to the age of sixty-two, but averages twenty-five or thirty. Camels sometimes live to the age of one hundred. Stags are long-lived; sheep seldom exceed the age of ten; cows live about fifteen years. Cuvier considers it probable that whales sometimes live to the age of one thousand. The dolphin and porpoise attain the age of thirty. An eagle died at Vienna at the age of one hundred and four years. Ravens frequently reach the age of one hundred. Swans have been known to live three hundred and sixty years. Mr. Mallerton has the skeleton of a swan that attained the age of two hundred years. Pelicans are long-lived. A tortoise has been known to live to the age of one hundred and seven.

PRAYERS FOR CHILDREN.
MORNING.

O GOD, my Father in heaven, I thank thee for the sleep of last night, and for the light of a new day. Lord Jesus, may I be a washed lamb of thy fold, loving thee, and living for thee. Holy Spirit, make me thy little temple full of grace. Help me to obey my father and my mother. Make me ready to go to heaven, to be happy there with thee for ever. For my Saviour's sake. Amen.

EVENING.

O Lord, I bless thee for all thy goodness to-day. Thou hast kept me from harm; thou hast fed me; thou hast clothed me; thou hast given me many kind friends. Be thou my Father and the guide of my youth. May angels watch over me to-night. Blot out the sins which I have done to-day. Teach me to love thee, O blessed Jesus, for thou hast died for me. Create within me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me. For Christ's sake. Amen.

LENDING TO THE LORD. A POOR man, some of whose family were sick, lived near Deacon Murray, referred to in the tract, "Worth of a Dollar," and occasionally called at his house for a supply of milk. One morning he came when the family were at breakfast. Mrs. Murray rose to wait upon him; but the deacon said to her, "Wait till after breakfast." She did so, and meanwhile the deacon made some inquiries of the man about his family and cir

cumstances.

After family worship, the deacon invited him to go out to the barn with him. When they got into the yard, the deacon, pointing to one of the cows, exclaimed, "There, take that cow, and drive her home." The man thanked him heartily for the cow, and started for home; but the deacon was observed to stand in an attitude of deep thought until the man had gone some rods. He then looked up, and called out, bring that cow back." The man looked around, and the deacon added, "Let that cow come back, and you come back too." He did so; and when he came back into the yard again, the deacon said, "There, now, take your pick out of the cows; I am not going to lend to the Lord the poorest cow I've got."

"Hey,

[In the early part of our ministry we well remember Deacon Murray, and we have heard several amusing anecdotes of him, showing his wit and good sense, and his piety also.Cyrus Prindle.]

THE TWO STONES.

I have before me two stones, which are an imitation of precious stones. They are both perfectly alike in colour; they are of the same water, clear, pure, and clean; yet there is a marked difference between them as to their lustre and brilliancy. One has a dazzling brightness, while the other is dull, so that the eye passes

over it and derives no pleasure from the sight. What can be the reason of this difference? It is this: the one is cut in but a few facets; the other has ten times as many. These facets are produced by a very violent operation. It is requisite to cut, to smooth, and polish. Had these stones been endued with life, so as to have been capable of feeling what they underwent, the one which has received eighty facets would have thought itself very unhappy, and would have envied the fate of the other, which, having received but eight, had undergone but a tenth part of its sufferings. Nevertheless, the operation being over, it is done for ever; the difference between the two stones always remains strongly manifest-the labour bestowed upon the one having rendered it ten times more attractive and valuable than the other.

DEATH.

What woes are caused by death in this world! They are seen everywhere. The earth is "arched with graves." In almost every dwelling death has been doing his work of misery. The palace cannot exclude him; and unbidden he comes into the cottage. He finds his way to the dwelling of ice in which the Greenlander and Esquimaux live; to the tent of the Bedouin Arab, and the wandering Tartar; to the wigwam of the Indian, and to the harem of the Turk; to the splendid mansions of the rich, as well as to the abodes of the poor.

That reign of death has now extended near six thousand years, and will travel on to future years, meeting each generation, and consigning the young, the vigorous, the lovely, and the pure, to dust. Shall that gloomy reign continue for ever? Is there no place where death can be excluded? Yes, HEAVEN; and the object of the Redeemer is to bring us there.